


But Gondolin Still Stands

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Finrod had been Morgoth’s captive for years when another elf was tossed in his cell.Well, if Finrod had to escape his cell with Maeglin, find the Hidden City, and convince Turgon to leave, his lover was not going to stay in a doomed city.
Relationships: Finrod Felagund | Findaráto/Turgon of Gondolin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48
Collections: Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	But Gondolin Still Stands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlightwalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/gifts).



Finrod counted the claw marks on the walls of his cell again, wishing he knew exactly how long ago that had been. He had lost track of how many times he had counted them several years ago, when Sauron had appeared there, smilingly as though he had once more won their battle, and informed him that Doriath had fallen. That Dior had fallen, and Nimloth, and their twin sons. That his half-cousins had been responsible.

“But Gondolin still stands, and your Master no more knows its location than I do, and its King still stands proud and unbending, with crown upon his head, as your Master fears,” Finrod had said that day. 

He clung to that belief. Fingon had fallen, Orodreth had fallen, their half-cousins had fallen, but Turgon yet lived free and fair. Sauron knew now that Finrod loved his cousin, but had proven unable to use that knowledge, so all was well enough.   
  
The sound of someone being dragged across the stoned came down the hall, and Finrod lifted his head to look as they stopped outside of the door. 

“A prisoner to keep you company.” The orcs laughed as the door opened, and a figure was tossed in, crumbling to the floor even as Finrod jolted up to catch him.

Finrod knew him not, but he did know his features, at least in part. More than that, he knew the gifts Turgon gave to those he held dear, and he knew Aredhel’s sigil anywhere, etched in the lightest lines around the bracelet the elf wore.

“You are Irissë’s son,” he said, surprised but knowing it was the truth. “I fear I do not know your name, for Sauron has seen no need to taunt me with it.”

The elf met his gaze, chin tilted upwards. That was Irissë, he thought. “And who are you?”

“Finrod - Findaráto, perhaps, depending on who you have spoken to.” Finrod watched carefully. If this elf had come from Gondolin -

The elf’s eyes widened slightly, before his gaze dropped to Finrod’s wrist. Finrod held his arm up, exposing the bracelet Turgon had given him.

“He never said -” The elf had seen that rune, than.

He had come from Gondolin. “That I was his lover? Nay, Turukáno would not have burdened you with that knowledge. Even when Elenwë died before on the Ice, he tried to avoid admitting his grief.”

The elf continued to eye him warily.

“Well, do you trust me enough to tell me your name, Son of Irissë?” Some part of Finrod thought he should be more patient. It was hardly a pleasant experience to be brought before Morgoth. 

The other part of Finrod was increasingly worried about how Turgon’s nephew had come to be in Morgoth’s keep instead of Gondolin.

“Maeglin,” the elf finally said.

“And how did you come to be in my company?” Finrod asked.

Maeglin flinched. “It does not matter.”

“If Morgoth learns of Gondolin’s location-”

“He knows.”

Finrod stared.

Morgoth could not know - but Morgoth must know, it would explain why Sauron had not come to question Finrod those last few days. Finrod swallowed around the sudden fear. “Then we must escape and warn Turukáno.”

“We?”

“If they already know of Gondolin’s location, you can hardly harm the city further by taking me there,” Finrod said. “And you can hardly escape this keep by yourself.”

“If you could escape, why are you still here?”

Finrod paused. “Because I did not know how to escape for some time, and had no relatives or friends whose fortresses I could reach to welcome me back once I did. But now we must go warn your uncle.”

It was clear that Maeglin did not quite trust him, even as Finrod led them out of the dungeons, and even as they both tensed at the thought of Morgoth and Sauron watching their escape.

The sun was hot and the nights were cold, and still Finrod insisted they keep walking until he slowly began to piece together the signs of Turgon’s city. Maeglin lingered beside him, dark eyes watching warily as Gondolin’s walls appeared before them, and then elves Finrod recognized, like Glorfindel, high on the walls and shouting for the King to be brought, and Ecthelion peering down beside him.

By the time they had reached the fourth gate, there were more yells from the guards, and Finrod could hear the gossip from the elves lining either side of the street. But he was the son of a King and the lover of another King, and a former King in his own right, and he refused to turn his head and acknowledge such gossip now, when he had a goal to convince Turgon of.

And then there was Turgon, striding forward as the inhabitants of the city had never seen him before; not to ask how the city had been discovered, or even to question if Finrod was truly himself, but to grasp Finrod in his arms and pull him close. Finrod breathed in as he was held close, and remembered days spent like this on the ice and besides a river-bank. 

“I knew you were not dead,” Turgon muttered quietly. Maeglin could probably hear, and behind her father, Idril definitely could, but neither Turgon nor Finrod could bring themselves to care.

“Than you had more faith in my survival than any of the rest of our relatives,” Finrod said, taking in the changes in Turgon. His lover appeared weary and grief was written in the corners of his eyes, but he still appeared to Finrod as the elf he had fallen in love with. 

Turgon smiled, brief but true. “I felt your mind touch mine sometimes - faintly, as though you hoped to keep yourself hidden when checking on me, but enough to know you still lived.”

“I had hoped to keep you from attempting a rescue like your brother did. I did not wish to think of what Morgoth would do if he caught you.” Finrod pulled back, awaiting Turgon’s reaction. 

Turgon’s eyes flickered towards Maeglin and back towards Finrod. “Itarillë,” he said without turning, “ask the kitchens to have a meal brought to my rooms. I think Findaráto needs food before we speak further.”

Finrod thought it had only been an excuse, until they arrived in the study and Turgon placed a bowl of soup towards him, frowning at the meal and then Finrod’s state. “I suppose you would not wish for a heavier meal.”

“Wish for it? Yes,” Finrod said. “Think it a good idea? Likely not. You remember Maitimo’s rescue as well as I do, I wish not to repeat the same mistakes.”

“I suppose not.” Turgon watched and would not hear another word of what had happened until Finrod rested the spoon back in the bowl, sighing at Turgon’s stubbornness.

“We must speak.” Finrod met Turgon’s eyes.

“You were Morgoth’s prisoner.” 

“Yes.”

Turgon’s frown deepened at the short answer. “And Maeglin - he knows, does he not?”

“Maeglin knows about us.”

“That is not what I meant.”

”I know,” Finrod said. He did not want to look at Turgon, did not want to see his expression as the city he loved became a trap, but he did anyways. “Morgoth knows the city’s location, yes.” 

Finrod watched as Turgon turned towards the window, looking out over the city. Beneath them, most of the city continued life as normal, if gossiping about the King’s cousin, unaware that their city was in danger and their King stricken with the knowledge. 

In the room, Finrod waited in silence.

“You need to rest,” Turgon said at last. “My chambers are through the door, please use whatever you need. I shall return after I meet with the others.”

Finrod nodded, hoping Turgon would listen.

Turgon did not, at least for the rest of the afternoon. When he returned from speaking to various others, Finrod sat and watched as Idril came to her father’s rooms, her son clutched to her chest, as various lords came to speak, and as Turgon tried to find some way to stay in the city. 

“We cannot stay,” Finrod said that night, cuddled in front of the fireplace and freezing in spite of it. “He will come.” 

“We can withstand his troops.” Turgon turned to look at him. “I will not let you be captured again, Findaráto, I will keep you safe.” 

“You cannot guarantee that if we stay. Turko, please, do not let him overrun the city with us still here.” 

Finrod watched his lover come closer to the fire, silently sitting and staring into it. Just as he had started to despair that all of his had been for naught, Turgon turned and kissed him. Finrod kissed him back, trying to show both his desperation and his love, and his hope they could still have a future together, if only Turgon would leave.

Then he opened his mind fully, letting Turgon see all of what he knew, all of his fears of what would come, and all of the grief he held for all they had lost and would have to lose again. 

Turgon’s eyes glistened with tears as he pulled back. Finrod pushed down his guilt at his role in convincing Turgon to leave, focusing instead on the future they would still have. 

“I must go speak to Itarillë,” Turgon said, pressing a kiss to Finrod’s hair. “We will leave as soon as our passage is arranged. Go rest, I will join you once I have given the orders to do so.” 

Gondolin shone brightly behind them a few days later, as streams of citizens fled through the hidden passage, followed last by the city’s king.

“Thank you,” Finrod muttered as the door shut for the final time. It seemed somewhat like he had felt upon leaving Nargothrond for the last time, knowing that he would not see the hidden city again. But this time Turgon was beside him, and of all the elves Finrod had desired to have at his side, Turgon had always been first.

Turgon did not speak, but entwined their hands together, squeezing Finrod’s as they began to walk forward.


End file.
